


Persephone for a New Age

by enigmaticblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 17:44:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four months out of the year; that’s the deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Persephone for a New Age

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt, “unwanted superpower (sudden onset)”

“Four months, Dean. That was the deal.” Death pulls the ring off his finger and holds it out.

 

Dean has known this was coming; the cold knot of dread in his gut has been growing steadily over the last couple of weeks. “You know I suck at this,” Dean complains.

 

“I do know,” Death replies. “But I like irony almost as much as I enjoy cheap food, and who better to take my place than the man who has cheated me so many times?” Death makes an impatient gesture with his hand. “A deal is a deal, Dean. Don’t keep me waiting.”

 

Dean knows the deal—four months a year as Death in exchange for Sam’s soul and the assurance that Sam wouldn’t go crazy once he got it back. He hadn’t managed a full day as Death, and now he faces four months.

 

Four months on, eight months off. That was the deal, and it’s worth it to have Sam back to normal. It _is_.

 

Dean takes the ring reluctantly and slides it on his finger. He’s already said his goodbyes; he made Bobby and Sam promise to look after each other.

 

Death nods. “Good luck, Dean.”

 

Dean swallows hard. “Yeah, thanks.” He’s not surprised when Death is gone in the next instant, or when Tessa appears. “So, you drew the short straw again?” he asks, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

 

He’s doing this for Sam, and Dean has done worse things to protect his brother—like cheating Death, and fucking with the natural order. He gets that now.

 

Tessa doesn’t look quite so sorry to see him this time, though, and she says, “No, I asked for this gig. It’s just until you get settled.”

 

Dean doesn’t know whether he’s glad to have the company or not, but he half-expected it. No way is Death going to let him off his leash until he’s sure Dean can be trusted to do the job.

 

Whether it’s because Death wants to start him out easy, or just the luck of the draw, Dean’s first assignment is an old man who’s sleeping alone in a darkened bedroom. Judging from the age spots and wrinkles, he’s _really_ old, and when Dean shoots an inquisitive look at Tessa, she says, “Stroke.”

 

Dean touches the man’s withered hand, and when he looks up, the man is looking down at his own body. “It’s about time,” the man says without heat.

 

That’s about the last kind of reaction Dean is expecting, and some of his surprise must have shown on his face, because the man smiles. “I’ve been looking forward to joining my wife for years now.”

 

“Then I hope you’ll be very happy together,” Dean replies, and Tessa takes the man by the arm and leads him away.

 

It’s the best possible start to his stint, and Dean relaxes just a bit. This is the kind of natural order Dean can get behind; this is what he wants for Sam.

 

The next assignment is a woman in her thirties shooting up with something—heroin maybe, or something else. She froths at the mouth before collapsing, and Dean touches her arm.

 

“Shit,” she says when she sees herself. “I took too much.”

 

“You sure did,” Dean replies.

 

The next few are similarly—well, not _easy_ , but they don’t make his chest hurt. A couple of gangbangers bite it in a shootout, and Dean has no problem with that. There’s an old woman in a nursing home, and a heart attack, and a woman who is so wasted away he can hear her sigh of relief at his touch.

 

Sometimes, Dean thinks, dying is just what it is—a natural progression, the end of a life. And sometimes—

 

The street they land in next is in a quiet, residential neighborhood where all the houses look mostly the same, SUVs and minivans in nearly every driveway, with a sprinkling of sedans parked on the street. Dean sees a kid on his bike pedaling down the sidewalk, and since he’s the only person around, Dean knows who he’s come to touch.

 

“Shit,” Dean mutters. “I hate when it’s a kid.”

 

“Dean—” Tessa’s voice holds a warning.

 

“I know!” Dean snaps. “Believe it or not, I don’t make the same mistake twice. I _can_ learn.”

 

Tessa holds up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just saying.”

 

A Honda comes up over the hill, silver paint gleaming in the sun, going just a hair too fast, and Dean closes his eyes, not wanting to see the moment of impact. He _hears_ it, though. There’s a crunch of metal and glass, a scream quickly cut off, and when he opens his eyes, the kid is laying in the middle of the street, crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut. The driver—a woman still holding her cell phone—gets out, a stream of pleas and protests leaving her lips.

 

“Dean, you have to,” Tessa says.

 

“I know!” Dean snaps. “I get it! Natural order, destiny, whatever. I fucking _get it_.”

 

He kneels down next to the boy. The kid’s eyes are closed, and Dean’s glad for that, glad that he doesn’t have to look the kid in the eye. This could have been Ben, Dean thinks. Ben rides his bike all the time, and sometimes he doesn’t look where he’s going. Ben wouldn’t be a kid if he did.

 

“Dean,” Tessa says behind him, her voice low and urgent.

 

Dean sighs and brushes his hand over the boy’s cheek. When he glances up, the kid is standing next to Tessa, staring down at Dean and his body with wide-eyed horror.

 

“What—what happened?” The kid stutters a bit, and Dean has no idea whether that’s because he’s got a speech impediment, or because he’s freaking out.

 

“It was an accident,” Dean says gently.

 

The kid’s lower lip trembles. “My mom is going to be so mad at me.”

 

He can’t be more than 7 or 8, Dean thinks—so young and fragile and still worried about making his mom angry.

 

“She won’t be,” Dean assures him. “It’s going to be okay. Just go with Tessa. You’ll see.”

 

The boy looks up at Tessa, who puts an arm around his shoulders. “It’s going to be fine,” she tells him. “Come with me.”

 

Dean sits down on the curb, trying to shut out the sobs of the driver and the howl of the approaching sirens.

 

He’s spent his entire life saving people, making sure people _didn’t_ die, and now he takes life with a touch.

 

And maybe this is Death’s point, Dean thinks. He’s hammering home the point that Dean can’t cheat _Death_. If he does, he only causes more death and destruction. He’s still willing to do a lot to save Sam; Dean is willing to give up four months of his life every _fucking_ year, just to make sure Sam is alive, and not insane, and that he’ll live to a ripe old age.

 

Dean has worked with Crowley for Sam, and he’s willing to play Death, too.

 

But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.

 

Tessa sits down on the curb next to him. “Kids and babies—they’re the worst.”

 

“Yeah, just give me a second, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

When Tessa maintains her silence, Dean shoots her a look. “What? No speeches about destiny or the natural order?”

 

“Would a speech make you feel better?” she asks, but her voice is sympathetic.

 

“I’ve spent my entire life trying to save lives,” Dean says. “And now, it’s like everything I’ve done is meaningless. If it’s all about destiny or fate, and we all have an appointment with death, what the fuck have I been doing all these years?”

 

“Look at it this way,” Tessa begins. “Four months out of the year, you go along with it. You take people at their appointed times, knowing that there’s no other choice. The rest of the year, you can fight it all you want.”

 

Dean stares at a line of ants marching along the curb towards the body of a dead squirrel and wishes he didn’t see death all around him.

 

“Is Sam’s life worth it?” Tessa asks.

 

“Of course,” Dean replies automatically. When Tessa raises an eyebrow, he insists, “It _is_. I just wish I didn’t know the things I know sometimes.”

 

“Ignorance is bliss.” Tessa takes his hand. “We have to get back to work, Dean,” she says, squeezing his hand hard.

 

“I know.” Dean gets to his feet and helps Tessa up. “What’s four months compared to years, right?”

 

“Right,” she says, and Dean takes a deep breath as she transports them to their next destination.

 

Time to go to work.


End file.
